


Thoughts

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's thoughts as he is being punished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains non-sexual disciplinary spanking. It continues along the lines of "Riot" and "6:07" but you do not have to read those stories to enjoy this one. 

## Thoughts

by Mary Mary and Martha

Author's disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Paramount Pictures and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringements are intended.

Our thanks to Nancy, B and M for everything. 

We would appreciate any comments to: mrymrymrha@aol.com 

* * *

Thoughts  
by Mary, Mary & Martha, mrymrymrha@aol.com 

The painter never expected someone to be looking this closely at his work, otherwise, I think he might have been a little more careful. If you look closely, you can slightly see the other color; a horrid red the paint store guy said was "amazing." I wonder if with Jim's eyesight, if he can pick out the minute traces of red coming through the blue. I will have to remember to ask him, but not now. Smiling, I remember the look on his face when we walked in. The love of my life had entered with his mouth wide open and only said one sentence, "Oh good God, no." I had to laugh at the memory. I had been permanently moved upstairs for about six months when I decided that my old bedroom, now office, needed a face-lift. Since the loft hadn't been painted since before Carolyn had lived here, Jim thought it was a good idea to have the whole place done. I thought the red would be bright and different. It turned out to look like the inside of a tomato. 

Behind me, a voice says, "You are supposed to be thinking about this afternoon, not the latest Seinfeld episode." 

I don't have to turn around to see who's speaking, That is good, since I am not allowed to turn around for at least another 15 minutes or so. I know exactly who it is. The only person in my life who could order me to stand still, facing a corner in the office for a set period of time. Maybe "order" is not the best word. An order is something you cannot disobey. I guess if I wanted to, I could disobey Jim and not stand here. I could cross my arms and say "no" with all the determination and strong will he is used to, but, as stupid as it sounds, I don't want to say "no." I don't mean that I eagerly say, "Oh yeah, just how I want to spend part of Monday night, standing in a corner! Yeah! Sure." 

No, not at all. Usually, the conversation goes something more along the lines of "Jim, please, I understand, I will remember, I know what you are talking about, don't make me!" Of course, the tone is more whining and it is usually done with some foot stomping and a puppy dog look. I have to be careful about the foot stomping though. One time, I carried it too far and found myself face down over my lover's lap getting spanked for "that little tantrum," as he put it. 

Arguing about it doesn't work either. I am a master at fighting with prose. Between my brains and my wit, I can usually talk people into doing what I want. I am not a pushover, but I know when I have done something that is wrong, nothing I say or do is going to get me out of trouble. That doesn't mean I still don't try. 

Standing in the corner has got to be one of the most boring things around. There is nothing to do---obviously---except to study the paint in front of you. I sigh and lean to the left against one of the walls. I rest my head against the side corner. I know I am supposed to be thinking about what I did this afternoon, but I don't want to. I know the rationale behind standing here is to get me think about what I did, what I should have done and why I did it. Sometimes, we talk about it when I am done standing here and after my spanking, other times; we just cuddle up together for awhile, just being quiet. I always end up crying afterwards. It isn't so much from the pain of the spanking I am going to get in a few minutes; it's something different. Not that it does not hurt to get spanked. It does and I am not looking forward to it. But the crying I do when Jim holds me in his arms after I have been punished and forgiven is a different crying than when I am hurt. I don't know how to explain it; it just feels different. 

All of a sudden, I feel Jim gently pushing me up straight by the left shoulder and applying a none-too-gentle swat to my bottom, protected only by boxers. "Stand up straight, Blair," he says. He doesn't sound angry. If anything, I can tell he is losing patience with me. In between me laughing and now leaning against the wall like I am trying to catch some Z's, he is probably thinking that I am not doing what I am supposed to be doing. 

So, back to what I was thinking about...I usually do end up sniffling and crying after I get through being punished. Sure, most of the time my bottom is sore, but not gut-wrenching pain or anything. I guess we'll have another experience to add to my study this evening. I really don't want to be spanked, but that is the way it is. I agreed to this arrangement and I know, deep down somewhere in the small part of your soul that you only take out and examine late at night in the dark, that it is what I need. I don't mean getting off on the pain. I would never consider myself a submissive. I am definitely not a slave. In 95% of our partnership, Jim and I are equals. We both have a fairly equal say about what we do, what we eat, where we go, in the normal day-to-day life that most couples carry out. Just, in ours, there is the other 5%. In that 5%, Jim is it---the boss, the head honcho, he who must be obeyed. Stifling another laugh, knowing that it would not help my situation, I grin instead, wondering what Jim would say about his titles. 

The thing is, I love that 5%. I spend too much of my time totally in control and while I do a good enough job, it doesn't fill a hole in me like this does. I don't know if I can explain it even to myself. I've tried. When we first talked it about having a disciplinary relationship, I tried to rely on my academic world to once again explain the unexplainable to me. 

I read books on D/s relationships, on S&M lifestyles and even disciplining children and punishment of adults. The books on D/s seemed to hit the most cords and some of the feelings and emotions that those in that lifestyle were expressing could have been taken directly from me. I don't know, I don't feel submissive to Jim. I don't think he sees me as submissive to him. No, I know he doesn't, we are equals, he says so and treats me like that. 

Then, why, if we are equals am I standing in the corner about to have my butt spanked by my lover? I guess it boils down to the simple fact that I broke a rule that we set up for our relationship; and, as Jim loves to say, for every action there is a reaction. So, for my action of not telling him my suspicions on our case, for running out to meet an informant without telling him or even Simon, for agreeing to go with the informant when he met our suspect; I guess those actions do deserve a reaction. I can't help but smile again at my own joke. Not that I think what I did was a joke or anything, I know it was wrong and irresponsible, I just couldn't help myself. I just really knew how to get to our suspect and I turned out to be right. 

"I was right, you know." Shit! Where did that come from? Why did that just pop out of my mouth? We have already had that conversation and I know what he is going to say. What evil deity just possessed my body and made me talk? 

"Blair, "he said, a touch of annoyance, "we have already had this conversation. Do we need to have it again? I think it was your attitude that got you in your present location. Do you need to stand there another hour and think about it longer?" 

"No," I reply, trying to keep my own frustration out of my voice. He's right. What had started out as a simple spanking got blown up in magnitude when I got defensive and rude and basically threw a tantrum when we got home. I couldn't help myself. I got frustrated and upset and feeling like I am not carrying my weight around in our partnership or at the station. So I did what comes naturally to me, I shaded the truth, got defensive when Jim...after congratulating me on getting the guy...hauled me home, reading the riot act to me about not following procedure and acting irresponsibly. I reacted first by trying to avoid the conversation and walking out on him and then getting rude and defensive when he told me I was going to be spanked. I mean, it's not like it was coming as a big surprise. We have rules, we have consequences and I broke a rule. So, it is really my fault I am stuck here, staring at a blue corner in the office. And it's my fault that I am about to get my butt spanked. And the thing is, I need these reminders, I need to know that I can screw up and I will be forgiven. I need to know that no matter how high or quick I jump, that Jim will be there to catch me, dust me off and put me back within the boundaries that I need. He may swat my butt several times to serve as a reminder the next time that my instincts tell me to jump, but I need those reminders. They are working. We have been doing this for a little while now and I am calmer. I feel more in control at school, at the station, in our relationship. I feel like I have a place I belong and where I am accepted...faults, quirks and all. 

"Blair, come here please." 

My stomach can't help but tighten at his voice. Actually, it's not his voice, it's the words. I love Jim's voice. It's warm and gentle at night when we are in bed, it's light and teasing in the morning when I don't want to get up. But now, it is stern and a little cool. Turning around slowly, I see him standing in the doorway between the office and the living room. I hadn't even realized that he had left, I thought he had been sitting there with me the whole time. Following him out the door, and toward the couch, I see him sit down. Taking a deep breath and then another one, I stand next to him by the couch. The coffee table has been pushed away. I see the small wooden paddle that we bought a couple of months ago sitting on the couch next to him. 

"Are you going to paddle me?" 

"Yes, I think combined with your actions this afternoon and then this evening, something a little more serious then a spanking is called for." 

I nod. This is not totally unexpected, not welcomed, but not unexpected. Jim holds out his hand to me and I take it, lowering myself down and across his knees. His hand is a solid reassurance that he is there and that he understands that this is hard for me. I adjust myself, so that my butt is directly over his right thigh and my arms and head are resting on the couch to his left. 

Shit! He just pulled down my boxers. I always hope that I am going to be allowed to leave them on. It is an embarrassing feeling, laying face down, bare butt over your lover's lap, knowing that in a few minutes, you are going to be crying while he paddles you, neither one of you getting much pleasure out of it. I take another deep breath, trying to calm myself. 

With little warning, beyond the slight movement I feel from Jim, the paddle slams into my butt. I try not to cry out, but a small gasp does escape. Two more quick swats, both dead center, leave me squirming. 

"Please, Jim, stop." I hear myself saying. I don't know why. I know he won't stop until he feels that I've been punished. As much as I don't want to be paddled, I know I deserve it. The words just seem to come out on their own. 

With the next three hard swats scattered across my butt, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, I hear a small gasp and know that it's coming from me. 

"Blair, why are you being punished?" he asks, in between hard swats that are quickly leaving my butt red. 

"For keeping my suspicions from you," I manage to get out, while I receive two more swats, one on each cheek. 

"And?" punctuating the question with another swat. 

"For meeting that informant without telling you or Simon. I'm sorry, I know it was wrong. Please, Jim, stop!" 

"It was beyond wrong, Blair, it was dangerous, anything could have happened." 

I think the idea of me doing something dangerous made my Blessed Protector put a little extra oomph in those last four swats. I can't help it now, tears are flowing freely and I struggle some, even though I can feel Jim's strong arm holding me down, holding me safe. 

"What else?" 

"I went off with him, to meet the suspect." 

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How irresponsible? How reckless?" 

Oh yeah, those last six swats, delivered along with Jim's questions, were hard, meant to get across to me the idea that dangerous activities and me were never supposed to meet, especially when I do it alone. I am amazed that Jim is not yelling; does not seem angry. When he does something dumb and dangerous, I always end up yelling and losing my temper. 

Five last swats connect hard to my already red and hot butt. Then, it's over. I'm crying, my nose is running, my butt is on fire and I am sorry. I can feel Jim slowly and gently rubbing my back and butt, muttering words of comfort and forgiveness, letting me know that it's over. A few minutes later, I slide backwards, and am caught by the two arms that I know, pray, will always be there to catch me. I am quickly brought up and nestled against his chest, safe and protected in his arms. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper a few minutes later, still sniffling back tears. 

"It's okay, Blair. It's over. I love you." 

"I love you, too." 

I love our relationship; I love the 95% when we are equals, and I love the 5% where I know I will be protected, and guided and forgiven. It is a wonderful combination and I wouldn't change any of it. 

The End 

* * *

End Thoughts. 

 


End file.
